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this joint used to be
the kind of place
where a tired old fuck
could belly up
and park his ass
for an afternoon
or an evening
or both
and the only bother
would be the kind
you welcome, the
“need another, hun?”
from the barmaid
with the chunky ass
you dream of pinchin’
just for the hell of it

but no…

some gawdamn kid
with a goatee
and glasses they say
are fancy
but look just like
the kind we
wore in the shop
just had to take
a picture
of his gawdamn self
in front of the jukebox
and “tweet” it
to his “followers”
who now show up
in droves at all hours
to take their pictures
in front of that
beat up old juke
because they
think it’s cool

i just wish
the snotnosed bastards
would find
some other jukebox
in some other bar
in another state
and leave us
the hell alone
with our fucked up
jukebox that goes
“crayzsh-shht-
crayzsh-shht-
crayzsh-shht…”
whenever some
broad with
her mascara running
sticks in a
gawdamn dollar
and picks
patsy cline

again

for the gawdamn
hundredth time

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